The Evil Bicyclists

My place is located next door to a very successful bagel shop. And sometimes on Sunday mornings it is not unusual for us to stand around twiddling our thumbs, looking longingly over at the line streaming out their front door. Hey, they're nice guys and they were there long before I was, so power to them. Only thing is their place is kind of old and could use some remodeling. Mine is all brand spanking new with two handicapped accessible bathrooms. (Such a waste of space, I could literally seat a table of six in each!) Sometimes bagel customers use my bathrooms.
But one sunny summer day there was a pack- a pack of bicyclists, all sweaty and nasty. Used to be that people rode bikes, got a little fresh air and exercise. Now they have to have helmets with points on them, spandex shirts, padded shorts and special shoes. Oh- and the gloves of course. Now it's like skiing, with expensive equipment and an elitist attitude. They tend to get aggressive on the road too, annoyed that you, a driver of an automobile would dare be impatient trying to get around their spandex wrapped ass on their road.
Anyway, I digress.
First, they parked their 2 wheeled versions of a Lexus along the sidewalk making it impossible for my already non-existent customers to park and enter. Then, one female bicyclist walks into my empty cafe and asks to use the bathroom. Next another one, without asking. Also, I might add, without buying so much as a Poland Springs to help her rehydrate herself. Then, another one! Whoa, I said at this point. No purchase, no bathroom.
So the lady bicyclists got all huffy and insulted. "Well!!", they exclaimed, now that they would have to find somewhere else, perhaps not as clean to empty their very athletic bladders. I saw them conferring outside with their male counterparts, gesticulating wildly and pointing at me.
After they finished buying their bagels and power-ades they all sat under a tree outside across the parking lot sipping and staring. With those ridiculous helmets, beak like on their heads they looked like a pack of evil birds, watching and plotting.
I do have one regular customer who comes in on Sundays. He's a large man with long-ish hair, a beard and a girlfriend. He too is a cyclist with a uniform. The cycle is a huge Harley, and the uniform is a well worn leather jacket that says "Hell's Angels" across the back of it. He is polite and well-mannered.
He can use my bathroom any time he wants to.